Saturday, October 09, 2004
How can this get any more twisted? Could I be fucked with just a bit more, please, universe??
Immediately after learning I was pregnant, I made an appointment for an abortion. I chose the RU486 option, mainly because I have no one who can accompany me to the clinic for the surgery and drive me home, which they require. Sure, "Shitfoot, can you take the morning off to drive me home from the abortion clinic?" That'd go over well.
Anyway, based on my last period, at the time, I was almost 5 weeks along. They required that I wait until after 6 weeks for the pill, so I scheduled it for my next day off. I went in on Thursday, and began the process of hoop-jumping to satisfy all the state laws. Mid-stream, I have the ultrasound to determine the gestational age. The nurse said very little. "Pants down around your knees, cover with this, lie back... cold here... [click] 9 weeks. Too late for the pill."
9 weeks. NINE WEEKS??? NINE FUCKING WEEKS? How the fuck does that happen? Nine fucking weeks. This means I had a period after I got pregnant, and I have no idea when it happened.
Oh yeah, and I can't have the RU486. "Did anyone come with you?" Well no, they didn't. I have to reschedule. I decide to finish the rest of the preparation bullshit just to avoid doing it all over again later. Watch the stupid video. Talk to the counselor, who effortlessly has me bursting into tears because there isn't a soul in this city I'm comfortable asking to be here with me. I fuck up and mention that I have been in counseling at a non-profit agency. "The law requires that if you've been under psychiatric care during the past 6 months, you have to get a letter from them stating that they've spoken with you about terminating your pregnancy and that you are healthy enough to make your own decisions." Well she's not a psychiatrist, she's a social worker. I hardly consider it psychiatric care. But they won't budge. I have to call and ask for the letter, and she tells me she'll give it to me next WEEK after another counseling session.
Which makes it 10 weeks. Creeping into dangerously uncomfortable territory here.
My pants are getting tighter. Suddenly it's not just a case of nausea and irritability. I don't think I can do it.
In the meantime, Rusty woke up from his stupor and has begun lobbying hard for me to keep this baby. He's been full of all the predictable sweet words and sentiments. It's hard not to just swoon under his spell and give in without a second thought. But I remind myself of how often people's words have let me down, and look for signs of action instead.
Last night, he arrived at my doorstep at dinnertime (which means he hauled ass straight from work to get here), flowers and new Green Day CD in hand (OK, "American Idiot" may not be the most romantic of notions, but he does at least show he knows me well). "I'm tired of fighting." he told me. "I won't talk about it. I promise. I intend to show you instead." I finished making dinner (he tried to get me to let him do it, but I wouldn't budge), and we sat down with the kids to dinner. The conversation was a bit sparse, but it's obvious the kids are warming up to him. I got up to refill my drink and sat down on the couch for a minute while I waited for DD to finish her meal. Before I knew it, he was cleaning up. Not just clearing the table, but cleaning the kitchen as well. And not just the dinner dishes... I actually found him on his knees wiping down the cabinet doors. I could only draw a breath to protest before he was telling me to go sit down and get some rest. I'd been sick with some stomach bug the day before, and the combination of that and the pregnancy had wiped me out. When he finished cleaning, he continued to wait on me, insisting I relax and watch TV, only letting me up to deal with the kids and their bedtime. I am thoroughly weakened by his seduction. What woman can resist a man who cleans the kitchen??
Still very torn. Very upset. Very scared. No easy choices here.
Immediately after learning I was pregnant, I made an appointment for an abortion. I chose the RU486 option, mainly because I have no one who can accompany me to the clinic for the surgery and drive me home, which they require. Sure, "Shitfoot, can you take the morning off to drive me home from the abortion clinic?" That'd go over well.
Anyway, based on my last period, at the time, I was almost 5 weeks along. They required that I wait until after 6 weeks for the pill, so I scheduled it for my next day off. I went in on Thursday, and began the process of hoop-jumping to satisfy all the state laws. Mid-stream, I have the ultrasound to determine the gestational age. The nurse said very little. "Pants down around your knees, cover with this, lie back... cold here... [click] 9 weeks. Too late for the pill."
9 weeks. NINE WEEKS??? NINE FUCKING WEEKS? How the fuck does that happen? Nine fucking weeks. This means I had a period after I got pregnant, and I have no idea when it happened.
Oh yeah, and I can't have the RU486. "Did anyone come with you?" Well no, they didn't. I have to reschedule. I decide to finish the rest of the preparation bullshit just to avoid doing it all over again later. Watch the stupid video. Talk to the counselor, who effortlessly has me bursting into tears because there isn't a soul in this city I'm comfortable asking to be here with me. I fuck up and mention that I have been in counseling at a non-profit agency. "The law requires that if you've been under psychiatric care during the past 6 months, you have to get a letter from them stating that they've spoken with you about terminating your pregnancy and that you are healthy enough to make your own decisions." Well she's not a psychiatrist, she's a social worker. I hardly consider it psychiatric care. But they won't budge. I have to call and ask for the letter, and she tells me she'll give it to me next WEEK after another counseling session.
Which makes it 10 weeks. Creeping into dangerously uncomfortable territory here.
My pants are getting tighter. Suddenly it's not just a case of nausea and irritability. I don't think I can do it.
In the meantime, Rusty woke up from his stupor and has begun lobbying hard for me to keep this baby. He's been full of all the predictable sweet words and sentiments. It's hard not to just swoon under his spell and give in without a second thought. But I remind myself of how often people's words have let me down, and look for signs of action instead.
Last night, he arrived at my doorstep at dinnertime (which means he hauled ass straight from work to get here), flowers and new Green Day CD in hand (OK, "American Idiot" may not be the most romantic of notions, but he does at least show he knows me well). "I'm tired of fighting." he told me. "I won't talk about it. I promise. I intend to show you instead." I finished making dinner (he tried to get me to let him do it, but I wouldn't budge), and we sat down with the kids to dinner. The conversation was a bit sparse, but it's obvious the kids are warming up to him. I got up to refill my drink and sat down on the couch for a minute while I waited for DD to finish her meal. Before I knew it, he was cleaning up. Not just clearing the table, but cleaning the kitchen as well. And not just the dinner dishes... I actually found him on his knees wiping down the cabinet doors. I could only draw a breath to protest before he was telling me to go sit down and get some rest. I'd been sick with some stomach bug the day before, and the combination of that and the pregnancy had wiped me out. When he finished cleaning, he continued to wait on me, insisting I relax and watch TV, only letting me up to deal with the kids and their bedtime. I am thoroughly weakened by his seduction. What woman can resist a man who cleans the kitchen??
Still very torn. Very upset. Very scared. No easy choices here.
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